I’m supposed to have words.
I’m supposed to have words for things.
I’m a writer, thats what I do.
Every day I string together sentences and give voice to things people feel but don’t know how to say.
But this time, I just stood there, pen in hand not knowing what to write.
Sometimes tears can’t make their way into words.
Sometimes hugging your friend a little tighter has to be enough.
Sometimes you eeek out a few simple words on a wall knowing it will never be sufficient to capture the sadness you feel. And the way you wish the world had just a little less hate in it today.
I’m a writer. I’m supposed to have words.
But standing at the Pulse memorial one year later leaves me without them.